


The Wanting Then, the Needing Now

by Page161of180



Series: Save Queliot, Save the World [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alice POV, Bittersweet, M/M, Post-Possession, So can I, because if canon can do it, let Quentin finally cry it out 2k19, non-sexual ritual-based nudity, partially inspired by 4x11 promo photos, tear-filled reunion time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:09:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Page161of180/pseuds/Page161of180
Summary: Alice’s decision was made, and there was no time to get any readier, because-- he was blinking, like he was finally becoming aware of where he was. And then he was stepping forward on legs that were unsteady like a newborn colt’s, and that should have made Alice like him more than she had in their past. Maybe it would have, if she wasn’t waiting to see if he was going to burn them all to the ground.(And if the sight hadn’t made Q gasp, like he was seeing a miracle, just past her right shoulder.)A post-possession reunion story, as told by the last person Quentin risked everything to save.





	The Wanting Then, the Needing Now

**Author's Note:**

> A note about the genesis of this story. A few weeks ago, I wrote a story about Alice in the imagined aftermath of Season 4, called The Future Says Hi. At one point in that piece, Alice recalls witnessing the moment that the gang broke Eliot's possession, specifically "the running into each other’s arms, and Eliot’s solemn, tear-filled eyes, and the big public declarations once they’d finally banished the monster possessing Eliot-- the one time in the past year that Q had actually asked for her help." Ever since I wrote that line, I've been itching to write that scene for real. In that way, this piece is the spiritual relative of The Future Says Hi, but you definitely don't need to read one to follow the other.
> 
> On a spoiler-y note, the setting for this story is based on promo photos for 4x11 which [SPOILER ALERT, for those who like to remain totally pure] appear to show Alice and Quentin (and maybe others?) at Brakebills South, with some ritual-y looking stuff about. I have absolutely no informed basis to speculate on what they are doing there, but as soon as I saw those photos, my brain got really excited thinking about what it would be like if Alice had to watch Q once again risk everything to save the person he loves at Brakebills South, but this time that person isn't her. Basically, I wanted an opportunity to play out the complicated, poignant look on Alice's face in 4x09 when she spies on Quentin in the library and seems to realize how deep his need to save Eliot goes. 
> 
> In short, I desperately wanted to write some catharsis for Quentin and Eliot, after all the pain they've both been pushing down this season. And my brain said, yes, but only if we do it from the most bittersweet perspective. And that's how this story was born.

 

 

“Oh, thank  _ fuck _ .”  

 

It was Margo who spoke first, who-- well, who reacted at all, first. Which was surprisingly  _ normal, _ Alice thought, given how  _ not- _ normal everything leading up to that moment had been. Being back at Brakebills South, not a niffin or an  _ ex _ -niffin (or, not  _ just  _ an ex-niffin, not anymore, most days, anyway). Not a-- fox. Just-- whoever she was now. Being with an increasingly desperate  _ Q _ , here, where they’d-- where everything they’d  _ been  _ was-- The start of it. The  _ source _ of it, even, she thought sometimes. Well-- maybe that wasn’t fair. 

 

That also wasn’t the point. 

 

There had been-- a ritual, Alice still wasn’t entirely sure what they’d drawn on, or how they’d drawn on it, or why it worked, or  _ if  _ it had worked, actually. But Margo was sure, about that last part, at least. She was throwing herself across the room, ceremonial ax abandoned, to where--  _ he  _ was. 

 

Alice’s wrists stiffened at her side, her fingers stretching instinctively, ready to  _ defend _ . 

 

She probably  _ should  _ have been getting ready to defend  _ Margo _ . Margo would take the brunt of it, if this whole calculation ( _ Alice _ ’s whole calculation) had been wrong. But even after everything they’d seen and done together, Margo still didn’t feel like a  _ friend _ to Alice. So it shouldn’t really have come as a surprise to anyone that as Alice took a deep breath and readied her hands to cast, she didn’t step  _ forward  _ toward Margo and the Monster, but  _ back _ . Toward Q. 

 

Q, who obviously hadn’t done  _ anything  _ to protect himself against--  _ him _ for months, and wasn’t likely to start now. No matter what the cost. 

 

(He hadn’t even  _ cared _ that day, that she had saved his life, Alice kept thinking, at all the worst times. Not about  _ that _ , anyway. He had only cared about one thing.)

 

Alice leaned closer to Q, just as Margo put both of her deceptively delicate hands on--  _ his _ bare chest. 

 

(Why did so many spells require nudity? Why did  _ this  _ one, here, today?)

 

“Tell me it’s really  _ you  _ in there.”

 

Alice raised her hands another inch, to waist level. Which was useless, the niffin part of her-- or just, the niffin- _ like  _ part of her, the part of her that had liked  _ being  _ a niffin-- said. There was  _ ready  _ or  _ not ready _ ; just  _ thinking  _ about getting ready didn’t mean anything. But Alice’s decision was made, and there was no time to get any readier, because--  _ he  _ was blinking, like he was finally becoming aware of where he was. And then he was stepping forward on legs that were unsteady like a newborn colt’s, and that should have made Alice like him  _ more  _ than she had in their past. Maybe it would have, if she wasn’t waiting to see if he was going to burn them all to the ground. 

 

(And if the sight hadn’t made Q gasp, like he was seeing a miracle, just past her right shoulder.)

 

“ _ Bambi _ ?” 

 

_ His  _ voice was as unsteady as his legs and  _ gentle  _ in a way that lit an uneasy spark of jealousy in Alice. Not because she wanted  _ him  _ to speak to her that way, like she was precious and important and it didn’t matter what she did, it was all wonderful to him. But it would be nice if  _ someone  _ saw Alice that way. Without wanting-- anything in return. Or maybe, it would nice to be seen that way and to  _ want  _ to return it, without reservation, without wondering  _ why _ and where was the catch and what would you want if you knew who I really am. 

 

(It would also be nice if Alice didn’t  _ know _ , from that day in the park when saving his own life had been the last thing on Q’s mind, that  _ he  _ also spoke to Q that same way, sometimes. Only--  _ more _ . With more  _ wanting _ than Alice could imagine accepting from anyone. With all the wanting that Q had always made Alice feel, whether he meant to or not, like she was  _ keeping  _ from him, back when he had still noticed whether she was even in the room.)

 

Alice couldn’t see Margo’s face from this angle, but she could hear her  _ gasp _ , so much like Q’s. And then Margo was wrapping herself around Eliot, not caring at all about his nakedness--  _ and why would she,  _ the judge-y, resentful part of Alice wondered,  _ with  _ their  _ history _ ? Eliot stood still for a moment, his arms pinned to his sides by Margo’s embrace, before he folded himself on top of her, almost swallowing her up.

 

All around the room, shoulders relaxed, breaths released. Alice looked over to the altar, with all the strange trappings they’d had to assemble. The flame of the center candle had gone out, while the others stayed lit, which was-- right. At least, she thought it was right, based on what she and Julia had been able to translate of the original ceremony text. But they were going on bits and pieces, at best, and it was insanely dangerous to have even  _ tried  _ something of this magnitude without any real information about what they were doing. Part of Alice had wanted to  _ say  _ that from the beginning, to tell them all that this was a bad idea, but she knew how they’d look at her--  _ again _ . And, anyway, Q had actually  _ asked  _ her to be here, to help, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that. And she was  _ trying  _ not to be that mouse-girl anymore, anyway. 

 

Even so, this was-- it didn’t make sense for everyone to just assume that they were in the clear, just because Eliot was hugging Margo and so the world was right on its axis again. In Alice’s experience, plenty of awful things could happen while Eliot and Margo held each other and Q was in the same room. 

 

Alice looked to Josh, who was standing at her left elbow, watching Margo. 

 

“This is-- we should  _ do  _ something, some kind of  _ test _ or something. We can’t know for sure if this is really--  _ him  _ or not.” 

 

Alice’s fingers twisted as she spoke, her shoulder twitched. 

 

But Josh just shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said mildly, “but good luck getting her to let go anytime soon.”

 

He smiled as he said it, like it made him happy to see his-- well, no one had really stopped to have a heart-to-heart with Alice about who was fucking who anymore, but clearly there was  _ something _ going on between Josh and Margo. And yet he seemed to think it was  _ sweet  _ that she was clinging, desperate, to a naked Eliot. 

 

Alice turned to look over her other shoulder, searching for an ally, but the closest person on that side was--  _ Q _ . 

 

He was-- open-mouthed. Amazed, maybe. But no, that wasn’t quite right. ‘Amazed’ made it sound like he was-- shocked but  _ aware _ . But Q didn’t look aware of  _ anything  _ right now. He looked-- whited out. Like he couldn’t process anything he was seeing.

 

He looked like he might pass out.

 

“Q?” 

 

Alice thought that she’d spoken quietly, as she’d taken another small step toward Q, but either the sound or the movement caught--  _ his _ \--  _ Eliot _ ’s attention. His face, which had been buried in Margo’s hair, lifted. His eyes caught on Alice, just for a second, and then skittered past like she wasn’t even there, before they landed on Q. 

 

And stuck.

 

As soon as their eyes met, Q started losing the whited-out look. It was like she could actually  _ see  _ the color pour back into his world, Alice thought-- slowly, at first, and then too fast. He made a choked-off noise and a shiver rippled through his whole body, from shoulders to feet. He swayed with it, a little. Alice put a hand on his arm without thinking, then pulled it away quickly when he righted himself. 

 

Eliot, meanwhile, had started disentangling himself, clumsy but gentle, from Margo’s embrace. He tugged his arm free and  _ reached _ , but it was dripping blood from the sigils they’d had to carve into his skin for the ritual ( _ Q hadn’t been able to bring himself to watch, as Alice dragged the knife _ ), and he listed forward, slumping more heavily onto Margo, who caught his full weight without flinching.

 

“ _ Whoa _ .” Earth-Mother Julia was at Eliot’s side immediately, leading him to one of the chairs they’d pushed to the side of the room. He sat and she brushed one of the clean towels they’d gathered over his shaking arm, wiping at the blood. “Take it easy; you’re okay,” she said softly, as Margo gripped his shoulder  _ hard _ and the other timeline’s Penny handed Julia another towel without being asked. 

 

“You all good, man?” Penny asked, sounding like he actually cared. When had  _ they _ had time to become friends? Alice wondered. Assuming they were. Maybe some people were just able to give a shit about someone else’s well-being without having to have a vested interest in their friendship. 

 

Eliot nodded in answer to Penny’s question. He turned to look for Q again, but he had to drop his head and shut his eyes half-way through the movement.

 

“Hang on. Just-- keep your head low for a little bit,” Penny instructed. “Yeah. That’s good.”

 

Beside Alice, Q had frozen when Eliot stumbled. When Eliot’s head fell forward, she could practically  _ feel _ the tension radiating out of Q’s entire body. It was only when Eliot mumbled a weak ‘thanks’ to Julia and Penny that Q started breathing again. Normally, at first, but then fast and wet, like he was trying to hold back tears and losing the battle.

 

“I just need to-- uh--” He spoke too quietly for anyone but Alice to hear, although his words weren’t really directed at her. They weren’t directed at anyone. “Mm--”

 

Without saying anything else, he spun around and began walking quickly toward the door, gaining speed with every step. He kept his head down the whole way, his ragged breathing actually sounding louder with every step, until he covered his mouth with his hand. On the way out the door he caught the frame hard with his shoulder, but he still didn’t stop, and once he was in the hall and out of sight, they could all hear his hurried steps break into a run.

 

Alice looked over to the cluster of people around Eliot, her fingers tangling in worried knots. 

 

Eliot was staring at the open door like every good thing had just been sucked out through it. He moved to stand, but three sets of hands restrained him at once. 

 

“Hey,  _ hey _ . Just-- give it a second okay. Your body’s been through kind of a lot.” Julia was rubbing the shoulder that Margo wasn’t gripping in her clawed hand. “He’ll be okay. Someone will go check on him.”

 

Julia was looking at  _ Alice _ , as she said that last part, Alice realized. Kady, who had been standing at the ready a few feet behind Julia and Penny, threw an eyes-wide _ look _ in Alice’s direction, then jerked her chin toward the door for good measure.

 

“Right.” Alice unclasped her fingers and brought her hands back to her sides. “I’m just going to, um. See how he’s doing.” 

 

She turned without waiting for a response, flinching at her own awkwardness as soon as the others wouldn’t be able to see. She felt the weight of Eliot’s sad, bottomless eyes on her back, the whole way out of the room.

 

Alice wasn’t sure what she expected to see when she crossed through the door, but it wasn’t an empty hallway. 

 

“ _ Q _ ?” she called softly, not wanting the others to hear and worry. The cold, weak light that always filled this place seemed to ripple as she walked, casting weird shadows that changed every time her feet hit the polished floor. Did it feel like a dream here for other people, too? Or was it just because of everything that had happened to her here?

 

When she reached the end of the hallway, where it branched off like an ‘L,’ Alice paused and brought her hand to rest on the wall, just  _ listening _ . Trying not to let what she heard break her always-brittle heart. After a moment, she took a breath, made herself turn the corner, and  _ saw _ him.

 

He was a little more than halfway down the hall. Not in front of any of the three windows or any of the randomly-placed wooden benches. There was no reason for him to have picked that spot, unless that was just-- as far as he could carry himself before he gave out under the weight of everything he’d been holding. And he  _ had  _ given out, the way Alice had half-expected him to each of the few times she’d seen him since the key quest had ended so horribly. 

 

He was crouched on the floor, on the balls of his feet, with his heels off the ground. He had one hand braced against the bare wall, arm fully extended. His other hand was cupped over his eyes, like he was trying to catch the tears that were escaping him in little keening sobs. 

 

As Alice came closer, he angled himself away, bringing his forehead closer to the wall. 

 

“I just-- need another minute,” he said, voice wet. 

 

Alice stopped a few feet away, just-- _standing there_ , useless, as he struggled to bring himself under control. She didn’t want to _gawk_ , so she made herself look at the window, even though the blinds were drawn, and imagine what she knew was on the other side-- the surreal light glinting off the snow, where she and Quentin had run together in another lifetime. 

 

“Sorry.” He finally said, sniffing loudly. “I-- sorry.”

 

Alice turned away from her memories and looked back down at Q. He was still on the balls of his feet, still facing the wall. The hand that had been over his eyes was wiping carelessly at his cheeks, which were red and raw. After another moment of quiet sniffling, he wiped the back of his hand against his chest, over his heart, and turned to face her.

 

Alice sucked in a breath.

 

His eyelashes were wet, his skin blotchy. He should have looked-- _miserable_. But. He didn’t. At all. His dark eyebrows were pinched in at the center, drawn down at the edges, the way he always used to look when he was just-- _overcome_ by how much he cared about something. _Fillory_ , or _magic_ , or. Her, sometimes. Before. His eyes were shining, obviously not just from tears. And the corners of his mouth were pulling up into a helpless smile, even as he continued to hiccup. He looked like he could _breathe_ again, after being underwater for too long. 

 

He looked--  _ happy _ .

 

He looked as happy as Alice had ever seen him look-- except, maybe, once. Here. At Brakebills South. Before she’d made it clear, over and over again, that what he thought he’d gotten back then, he couldn’t keep. Not in all the ways he wanted.

 

“Did I, uh-- did I freak everybody out? Taking off like that,” Q asked, still swiping at tears, not aware  _ at all  _ of the sudden  _ loss  _ that Alice felt everywhere, all at once.

 

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could coax any words out, there was a sound of footsteps approaching from around the corner. 

 

Q looked right past Alice as the footsteps got closer, and the hope in his eyes was almost ( _ was definitely _ ) too painful for her to watch, so she looked down at her own hands. Until the footsteps got closer and closer. 

 

When Q’s breath hitched, again, Alice turned. 

 

Everyone was there, clustered at the bend in the hallway-- Julia and Penny and Kady clustered together, each looking nervously at Q. Margo with Josh at her elbow. And stepping forward, away from Margo’s protective hand against his back, was Eliot. They’d gotten him a utilitarian army-green blanket from somewhere, which he was holding mostly closed at his chest. It didn’t even cover him to the knee. There were bags under his eyes and his stubble was grown out almost into a beard and his hair was long and tangled. Alice had never seen him with so little care put into his appearance. But his eyes were-- they were so dark and serious and so  _ full _ , it felt like intruding just to see him. Alice felt more uncomfortable watching his face right now than she had binding his naked body for the ritual. 

 

“ _ Q _ ?” he asked. 

 

And Alice felt jolted, immediately, back to that sunny park where she had been so afraid Q was going to die but where he’d ended up being  _ reborn _ , face full of dazed disbelief. 

 

Q stood from his crouch, using the hand on the wall for support. His eyes were locked on Eliot’s. And Eliot still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Q. 

 

It occurred to Alice, for a brief moment, that she was standing in between them, and she should move out of the way. But no. That was just an illusion. Because as each man started walking toward the other, on equally shaky legs, slow, then fast and faster, it was clear that there was nothing standing in their way at all. 

 

They met somewhere in the middle, closer to where Eliot had been standing than Q, because Eliot still looked like he could barely stand, and Q had ended at almost a run. There was a split second, right as they met, that they just  _ paused _ , neither moving, and even Alice found herself holding her breath. But then Q reached for Eliot, just as Eliot’s long arms pulled Q against him. They wound up with Q pressed against Eliot’s chest, face against naked skin, where the blanket was falling, forgotten. 

 

The full-body sobs that Q had swallowed down when Alice found him crouching by the wall returned the moment he touched Eliot. This time, it didn’t seem like he was even  _ trying  _ to hold them back. His shoulders shook with them and Eliot’s arms tightened around him, one hand cupping the back of Q’s neck, the other fisting in his hair, both working to hold Q safe through the storm. 

 

“Oh, God, I was so scared, El,” Q kept saying. “So scared.”

 

“ _ Shh _ , honey.” Eliot pressed kiss after kiss to the side of Q’s head. His eyes squeezed shut as Q’s hands dug deeper into skin of his back. 

 

Alice felt like she was floating outside the scene. Not the way she had when she was a niffin and this kind of display of frail human need would have bored her. But-- _lifted_ _away_ , for now at least, out of the swirl of confusion and jealousy and sickly fear that had surrounded her every time she thought about Q and Eliot and what it meant that Q was fighting so hard to bring him back, the way he only ever used to do for Alice. 

 

Quentin’s tears were streaking Eliot’s bare chest, his breath stirring the dark hair there, while Eliot-- still visibly weak as a kitten-- rocked him carefully. If there had been any ambiguity before--

 

( _ Stop it, Alice _ . There had never been any ambiguity.)

 

After minutes or hours or days, the last of Quentin’s sobs finally subsided and he pulled back from Eliot, just far enough to look up at him with a real, beautiful, embarrassed smile on his face. 

 

Alice could remember Quentin looking at her in a lot of equally beautiful ways, but there was something about  _ that  _ particular smile, she realized, that had always been for  _ Eliot _ .

 

Eliot was stroking both sides of Quentin’s neck with his thumbs, looking equally overjoyed. There was a nervous current to him, though-- one that jumped to the surface when he cleared his throat and said, “You know this is one of the few things in life I didn’t think I’d be naked for--”

 

Quentin laughed-- no,  _ giggled _ \-- around a sniffle and pulled the sagging edges of Eliot’s blanket together in his own fists, crossing them over Eliot’s chest, just below his armpits. 

 

Eliot smiled, besotted, the look that Alice had always been the most afraid of when she and Quentin were together. “Q, before everything that happened. That day, when we-- and you--”

 

Alice could feel her forehead wrinkle, but Quentin seemed to understand whatever it was Eliot was haltingly trying to describe. He shook his head. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. We don’t have to--”

 

“It  _ does  _ matter.” Eliot moved his hands to Quentin’s shoulders, rubbing back and forth from collar to bicep. “It matters to me. It-- it always mattered to-- Oh God, just--  _ come here _ .”

 

With the last words, Eliot hooked his arms around Quentin’s neck, burying his face in his hair, while Quentin gripped back just as tightly. 

 

“Your hair’s so much shorter,” Eliot said, muffled, after a moment. 

 

Alice could feel Quentin’s answering smile in her chest. 

 

She wondered, with a pang, whether  _ this  _ was what Q had wanted from her, when she’d been the one he brought here to save, all that time ago. Not for him to be  _ her  _ hero, like she’d always thought, but for her to be his-- or to  _ want  _ to be, at least. To  _ want  _ to tell him that it was all okay, and he could stop crying now, and if he couldn’t, then she would hold him for as long as it took. If she had come back to herself and wanted nothing more than to hold Quentin as sweetly as Eliot was holding him now, what would have happened to them, she wondered?

 

But the thought passed surprisingly easily, as the strange light of this place changed again. Because that  _ wasn’t  _ what she had wanted, for better or for worse. And whether Quentin had wanted the same things from her then that he so clearly needed from Eliot now, she couldn’t begin to guess. He was different now, that was clear. Grown up, like he’d lived a whole life since it had been the two of them. 

 

And anyway, she’d--  _ they _ ’d never been very good. At knowing what the other needed. No matter how much they cared.

 

Alice took one more look at Quentin’s shaking hands and Eliot’s wobbling knees, before turning away to give them their privacy. She walked to the shuttered window, closed her eyes, and let the room around her fade, until even Quentin’s whispered chorus of “-- _ you’re back, you’re back, oh God, you’re really  _ back--” was just another memory that this weird place would hold. She pushed it aside, like she pushed aside the rest, and thought about something that was not quite a woman and not quite a niffin and not quite a fox, making her way through the snow, searching now alone. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks very much for reading!


End file.
